


Jailbirds Ficlets

by lethallyfreezingnewspaper



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Ficlet, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Recovery, The Raft Prison (Marvel), Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-02 13:09:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19199488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethallyfreezingnewspaper/pseuds/lethallyfreezingnewspaper
Summary: Here are a couple of drabbles I wrote after reading the wonderful fanfic 'Peter and the Jailbirds' by beautifullights! They mainly focus on the four jailbirds' recovery after the Raft.





	1. 3.14159265358979

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Peter and the Jailbirds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13183083) by [beautifullights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullights/pseuds/beautifullights). 



> I hand-wrote this (which I NEVER do fyi) then typed it up, so it probably has more typos than normal, sorry about that. This isn't me at my best, but I have several fics in the works, so keep an eye out for those. :) 
> 
> Also: I am NOT a professional. Do not look at this as a how-to guide to recovery. I have tried my best to accurately and respectfully portray the after-effects of mental and physical trauma, but I am human, so I've probably made mistakes. If anything is glaringly obvious and/or offensive, PLEASE let me know, so I can fix it immediately. 
> 
> THIS WAS INSPIRED BY THIS FIC: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13183083  
> THESE CHARACTERS ARE NOT MINE. THIS SITUATION IS NOT MINE. I simply played with them a little bit.  
> Okay now that we have all these disclaimers out of the way, onwards to the fic!!

It’s mid-afternoon, around two weeks since Peter started his lovely stay at the Raft, and he’s bored out of his mind, as per usual. When he first moved in, Sam had taken great delight in giving him orientation. This orientation included certain ‘rituals’, as he called them, that Peter needed to find or complete, to, as he said, ‘prevent you (Peter) from going bat-shit crazy’. One of these rituals was finding at least three coping mechanisms, just ways to eat up the time. All the other jailbirds had their own, which they were currently occupied with, leaving Peter to sit on the floor of his cell and brainstorm.

 _'Think.’_ He told himself sternly. _‘What did Sam say? Repetition is good.’_ Peter had already dedicated one of his rituals to his decathlon facts; after the mid-afternoon changing of the guards (without a clock, beginning and ends of shifts were the best way to reliably track time), he would take 45 minutes to review all decathlon facts he could remember.

Peter’s stomach grumbles, interrupting his thoughts. Man, what he wouldn’t give for some none-prison food right now. A cinnamon bun, maybe, or- pie. Oh, pie. How he misses- oh, PI!

Now that’s an idea.

‘Three-point-one-four-one-five-nine-‘

‘What are you doing?’ Clint interrupts.

‘Reciting Pi.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s called a coping mechanism, man. Deal with it.’

Clint shrugs; ‘Continue.’

Clint’s is currently signing Britney Spear’s ‘Toxic’, so he doesn’t have much room to judge. Peter starts up again, getting up to the 30th digit before he trails off.

‘Why’d you stop?’, Sam asks.

‘That’s all I know.’

‘Oh.’ Peter sighs; it’s not very effective. Good mechanisms should take a while fully complete, to eat up the time.

‘It just sounds like random numbers to me,’ Wanda says. ‘Why don’t you simply continue doing that?’

‘You mean, I just memorize a completely random string of numbers?’ Peter replies.

‘What else do you have to do?’ Clint counters.

‘That could be a good idea,’ Sam adds ‘If you add one number a day, it’s a good way to keep track of time, and adds to your established routine.’

And that’s that. Every morning, Peter wakes up and adds a new number. One day, simply to change things up, he asks Wanda for a number. Clint and Sam are highly offended they weren’t asked, so suddenly it’s a group coping mechanism. Clockwise rotation, one number per person per day.

To Peter’s surprise, it helps. Really, really helps. The rotation gives him something to look forward to; help to set the day and date in his mind.

There are a few notable things. (This list is numbered, of course).

3) Peter, who is the day before Clint, will never say the number ‘6’. This is because Clint, without fail, will say ‘9’ the next day.

.) Mid-February, they maintain 13 ‘7’s in a row, simply because they can. Wanda breaks the streak.

1) Peter wakes up with dread in his stomach on the day of his birthday. The guards remember. They take extra pleasure in torturing him that day, just because they can. No-one else mentions anything until just before lights out, when Clint tells him he can pick the numbers for the next 16 days- one for each year of his life. And then, very quietly, Clint hums ‘Happy Birthday’. Peter doesn’t bother to muffle his sobs.

4) By mid-April, everyone can recite the entire string of numbers. It takes roughly 2.5 minutes to get through it.

1) Numbers are added, even when Clint is in solitary. They choose for him, but as solidarity simply go ‘6-9-6-9-6-9-6’. (yes, they’re mature, grown-up adults, why?)

5) Numbers are not added when Peter is in sensory deprivation. There is no conversation about this; time simply halts until he returns.

9) One day, Clint randomly announces that 11 is now a ‘dirty number’. It is their new swear word, and just * happens * to be the number ID of the cruellest guard. Everyone takes to using it liberally, most of all Peter.

2) Soon, so many numbers have hidden, double, or even triple meanings that it’s difficult to keep track of them. 72, for example, means that something looks like Stalin. (don’t ask).

6) The day that they are rescued is an ‘8’, which is Wanda’s choice. It was the 167th number in the series.

5) Peter starts screaming numbers in the middle of his surgery, on the quinjet, looking for some distraction, any distraction. The other three jump, then quietly repeat them with him. Every else looks away; they do not know what these numbers mean, but they know that it is private by the tears glistening in all fours eyes. Sam’s voice cracks on the last number.

3) The next day, they start a new list of numbers. It starts with 1-7-7-6, America’s independence year. Freedom.

5) Sam convinces Steve to grow out his beard. It’s a good look, but Steve doesn’t like how itchy his face is, so they cut it off- not entirely though. For one, glorious day, Steve sports a large moustache. Peter sees him for the first time at the group dinner, and just about dies. In the middle of his gasping, he squeaks out ‘Seventy-Two!’. Sam, Clint, and Wanda look at Peter, look at Steve, and burst out laughing. They keep giggling throughout the meal and refuse to tell anyone else why.

8) It’s game night, and Peter is crushing everyone at Uno. That is, he's winning until Tony hits him with not one but TWO ‘draw four cards’. It boosts his card count to eleven. Clint, who is playing with them, snickers, and Tony takes this (wrongly) as encouragement.

He stands up grandly, and announces to the entire room that ‘I have managed to best the UNO MASTER!’.

Everyone bursts into applause, and there are a couple of cheers, even; Peter’s talent at Uno is renowned. It's a combination of sheer dumb luck, and... yeah, it's pretty much just luck. However, Peter's not just going to let his reputation take a hit like that, so stands up as well, interrupting the applause.

‘Yeah, Mr. Stark boosted me up to- get this- eleven cards. Eleven. ELEVEN.’ All four jailmates-in-arms are cackling now. ‘ELEVEN, MR STARK! ELEVEN!’ They laugh so hard that Tony gives up. Peter wins by default. It’s glorious.

9) One day, May finally gets the courage to ask about it. They’re sitting on the lawn outside the compound, just soaking in the sun.

Peter tilts his head back and quietly murmurs ‘Thirty-six’ to no-one in particular.

‘What does that mean?’ May asks, swallowing her nervousness.

‘What?’ Peter replies.

‘Thirty-six. What does it mean.’

‘Oh.’

Peter looks down, brushing grass off his knee. ‘There was one day in, uh, the place, where the guards were real bad. You could never tell what was going to set them off; that day, it was anything. Clint cleared his throat-‘

_snap_

‘-he was down. Wanda rolled off her bed-‘

_snap_

‘-down. I laughed, and-‘

He cut off, looking away, burying his hands in the grass. ‘Uh, yeah. So it was a total of 36 times between the four of us, that day. And then, at the very end, Sam just says _I’m going to eat 36 fro-yos when I get out of here._  And then Wanda said she would eat 36 slices of honey-cake, Clint was going to eat 36 chicken wings, and I was going to eat 36 waffles. Because we damn well earned them. And then that number -36- kind of became the number for hope. For dreaming, and stuff like that.'

Peter’s crying now, silent tears slipping down his face. He’s not sure if they’re happy or sad.

‘And I was just thinking, all this-‘ he gestured wildy, at the sky and the grass and everything in between ‘-is a dream come true.’

May’s crying too, and they simultaneously take each other’s hands, leaning in for comfort and support.

‘Are-are there lots of numbers like that?’ May murmurs.

‘Yeah. We have this whole, uh, system. You’ve probably noticed it. It was easier that way, because the guards didn’t always write down what the numbers meant, so it was like our own little language. There was a series, too-‘ Peter rattles off some of the numbers, ‘-to help us track the days. And by the time the rest of the group go to us, we were so used to them it’s natural.’

7) All the Avengers learn about the number system, eventually. And soon, they’re picking it up too, and even using it in battle. The comms sound like a decathlon- ‘ELEVEN!’ ‘NINETY-THREE!’ ‘Forty-FUCKin- eight!’. To anyone eavesdropping (see: Nick Fury) on the comms, it’s indecipherable. But to them, it’s they’re own secret language.

9) The Avengers are hesitant about using it at first, but the Four are adamant. ‘It-it helps me associate it with better things.’ Peter admits to Tony one day, studiously staring at a point on a lab table. ‘And you gotta admit it’s handy. Funny, too.’

3) Peter is grounded for exactly 11 minutes when Tony finds out what he said to him during Game night. Peter grins the entire time, and afterwards, they go out for waffles. Peter doesn't manage to eat thirty-six all on his own, but with a little help from the team, they finish them all up easily enough. 


	2. Paper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two. I'm not quite as happy with it as chapter one, but whatever. Enjoy. :)  
> DISCLAIMER: I'M STILL NOT A MENTAL HEALTH PROFESSIONAL. DON'T TAKE MY ADVICE ON THIS STUFF. Also, none of these characters or this universe is mine.

It’s day four of physical therapy, of doing careful rounds to the Nurses’ station and back. Nothing extraordinary is happening. MJ, Peter, and Ned are lightly joking as they make their way down the hallway. Nearby, a nurse starts a copy machine in the corner, printing out copious amounts of files.

Peter stops.

‘Peter?’ Ned asks ‘You okay? Do you need a break?’

 ‘No- it- I- uhhh.’ Peter stutters, just staring at the nurse. ‘Can I- I mean- I’m fine. Yeah.’ He coughs lightly. ‘Let’s go.’

Ned shoots MJ a _‘What was that?!?’_ look as they begin shuffling again, and she replies with a shrug. Peter’s quiet for the rest of the walk; the only sound he makes is his heavy breathing.

 When they get back to his room, he stares at the wall for twenty minutes, barely acknowledging them. MJ’s just about to leave when Peter opens his mouth.

And closes it.

And opens it again.

Close.

‘Spit it out, Parker.’ MJ finally barks, because she has better things to do than watch Peter perform a surprisingly accurate impression of a guppy.

‘Um-‘ Peter’s voice is quiet, tentative. ‘C-could I have some paper? Like, a lot of paper?’

Ned looks at him questioningly, but Peter stares at his blanket, picking at it with his hands.

‘I-okay.’ MJ says. She goes out to the copier in the corner and picks up a 100-sheet pack sitting next to it, before heading back to the room. Peter is fiddling with the blanket, not making eye contact with Ned, who is sitting awkwardly in the corner. ‘Here you go.’

Peter takes it, staring at it irreverently. ‘Can I please,’ He coughs, holding the paper closer, ‘have some time alone?’

Okay, something’s up.

They leave quickly. Peter is drawing his hands over the fresh paper as they leave. He barely glances up.

 

__

 

Clint’s in the range with Steve when Friday pipes up.

‘Mr. Barton, Peter would like to see you, Sam, and Wanda in his room. He has a present for you.’ Clint shoots the last arrow in his quiver- it hits dead centre- and heads towards the elevator.

He finds the other two congregated around Peter’s door.

‘Okay, Clint’s here.’ Sam calls through. ‘Can we come in now?’

There’s some shuffling, then Peter announces ‘Come in!’. Clint opens the door warily, before stopping in his tracks.

There’s paper.

Everywhere- on the floor, seats, balanced precariously on the small desk attached to Peter’s bedside. Three seats are set out next to the bed, each with a pristine notepad and ballpoint pens resting on top. Peter is sitting right in the middle of the entire mess, a huge-ass grin on his face.

Tonight…’ he says, ‘We write like kings!’

Sam barks a short laugh, more surprised than amused, and that sound seems to unfreeze them. They fall upon the paper like wolves.

\-----

Three hours later, when FRIDAY announces that dinner was ready, most of the paper has been used up, in almost everyway imaginable. Paper snowflakes, letters, balancing coins; everything. They head out dinner as a unit, paper firmly clutched in hand. Peter is carefully wheel up, as well. He’s pretty excited; this is the first time he’s leaving the medical wing since he’s arrived.

They walk (or wheel, in Peter’s case) through the door as one family, one group. The rest of the team has already assembled and looks up as they enter the door with unnecessary grandeur.

‘Well, well, well!’ Tony remarks. ‘Team Jailbird, back together again!’ They ignore him, and Peter silently fidgets as they take their seats.

            Awkwardness descends.

After a moment, Sam clears his throat and stands up again.

‘We-‘ he gestures to the four of them, ‘have been talking. And we want to tell you something. To tell you something.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘the R-raft, obviously changed all of us. A lot. But, um, there was one thing that helped. We would get-‘ he broke off, looking away.   Peter caught his eye.

‘Fifty-eight’, he mouths. _Courage._ The day number when Clint had gone into solo confinement for him.

‘We would get one piece of paper a day,’ Sam continues, ‘And it was the most precious thing, understand? There was nothing to do, nothing, and this stupid piece of paper would keep us sane.’

Wanda spoke up then. ‘We would write letters, every day. They would take them away and burn them, but that would not- _could not-_ take away the love with which we wrote them.’ Most of the table is teary-eyed by now.

‘I was walking today.’ Peter rasps, ‘and I saw this copier, in a corner. There was so much paper. It was like- a cavern of gold. And-and I realized,’ he chokes back a sob, ‘that I could write you letters, and that they wouldn’t be burnt. I could- I could actually give them to you.’

Clint, who has been suspiciously quiet throughout this entire exchange, slides letters across the table. Each person gets four, one from each ‘jailbird’. They take them with murmured thanks, handling them as if they are diamond.

Dinner is quieter than usual, but that isn’t saying much, as it’s still it fifteen times louder than a normal family dinner. Peter happily sits in a corner, flanked by May and MJ, and eats, well, nothing. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t have a good time.

__

 A couple of months after that night, the Jailbirds (as they have been officially dubbed) go on their first ‘field trip’. It’s to Staples, and they buy so, SO much paper.

It’s absolutely glorious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I switched from present tense to past tense halfway through writing this without realizing and had to go back and change it ALL TO PRESENT ughhhhh. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed. The last chapter should be up tomorrow (it's already written, I just need to go over it for typos, etc. :) 
> 
> All comments + kudos are loved and appreciated!! Thanks to beautifullights for letting me play around in their universe for a bit.


	3. Opening Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a while for Ned to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok y'all, here's the last chapter! Sorry it's a day late.   
> For the last time, I AM NOT A MENTAL HEALTH PROFESSIONAL. DON'T LOOK AT THIS AS A ACCURATE GUIDE TO RECOVERY.   
> Cool, thanks, enjoy!

It takes a while for Ned to notice.  

            He first sees it when Wanda visits Peter for the first time. They’re joking around, all smiles and laughter when a nurse comes in. Silence descends immediately; then Peter makes some funny comment, and the moment is gone so fast, Ned’s half sure he imagined it. He dismisses it without a second thought.

            Then he’s down in the shooting range, as Clint teaches him how to badly fire an arrow. The archer is behind him, adjusting his arms when the elevator door opens. Clint’s entire body tenses and his sentence cuts off. Steve comes out, and Clint carries on as if nothing happened. This time, Ned makes a note of it.

            He’s in the Kitchen, talking with Sam and MJ. The door opens, and Ned watches as Sam automatically clasps his hands behind his back, and stands up a bit straighter. Sam catches him watching, and slouches again.

            Ned mentions it to MJ, later, as they’re headed towards their guest rooms. She shrugs.

‘I noticed it, too,’ she says. ‘I think- when the guards came in, they had to stop whatever they were doing. And, of course, nobody else would open a door, so it probably just became an automatic response.’

With his curiosity- not satisfied, because her (probably right) assumption leaves a sick twist in his stomach- but at least abated, Ned doesn’t really think much more about it.  

            That is, until around two weeks later. There’s an unofficial Jailbird meeting happening in the common room, while other Avengers drift in and out. They’re painting their toenails, sprawled all over the couch, limbs in a tangle when the elevator doors open. Ned watches as the room goes instinctually goes silent and waits for the immediate relaxation that usually follows.

 It doesn’t happen.

            Armed guards step out of the elevator, carrying a package between them. The Jailbirds’ response is immediate.

Sam impossible straightens more, battle mode in place.

Peter backs into a corner, face blank, arms slack.

Wanda wraps her arms around herself, eyes down.

And Clint- _Clint_ , always moving, always bursting with energy- is as still as a statue.

            They all wait in stony silence, shaking. The armed guards walk past them without a second glance, further into the compound, where Pepper intercepts them.

            ‘Oh, is this the Picasso?’ She says, then takes in the room. None of the Jailbirds have moved a muscle. Pepper’s face hardens. ‘Put it there, please. Quickly.’

She points to the corner furthest from the group of statues, all eyes are tracking their every move.  The armed guards are gone in under thirty seconds, and the Jailbirds collapse, folding in on both themselves and their group.

            Ned can hear Peter’s broken sobs and Sam’s murmured reassurances as he retreats, following Pepper as quietly as he can.

__

            Months later, the Jailbirds are going through their Staples haul. Peter is excitedly showing Ned a new day-to-day planner when the elevator door opens, and Steve comes in to see Sam. Peter, caught up in ‘all these different SECTIONS, Ned!’, doesn’t notice.

            Ned smiles as wide as he can, and lets Peter show him stationary for another 20 minutes.

            Progress. It’s slow, it’s uneven, but it’s progress. And that’s all that really matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably tell, these ficlets didn't really have a plot, but whatever. Hope you enjoyed. One last shoutout to beautifullights for letting me borrow their toys (ahem, characters). 
> 
> Comments + kudos are loved and appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Did you notice that the list wasn't actually numbered, but the numbers were Pi? :) 
> 
> Also, this fic was inspired by me, on a terrifying ride at an amusement park, starting to scream Pi as an attempt to distract myself from the terror.  
> My friend: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?  
> Me: THREE POINT ONE FOUR - look, it's a coping mechanism, don't judge me - ONE FIVE NINE 
> 
> and it kind of just evolved from there, lol. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! :) Kudos + Comments are loved & appreciated.


End file.
